


Ancient Records

by Novemberries



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: A Question of Trust, And invisible ties, Deep feels, Eventual Romance, F/M, Slow Burn, dad feels, doctor and his patient
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:15:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21820807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Novemberries/pseuds/Novemberries
Summary: She was stranded and desperately looking for a ride. A lone Mandalorian stopped on the planet's surface to rest and restock, and it quickly turned out he and the child might need this midnight visitor more than he had realised. Even if his trust seemed to be all but gone.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV) & Original Character(s)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 138





	1. Chapter 1

The nights were so cold on this backwater planet that not even her thermal shirt and her coat with a bantha wool lining, courtesy of the better times she had lived in, were able to keep the chill at bay. But she hoped this night escapade would be worth it.

No, scratch that. She desperately needed to find a way out of this forsaken rock and earnestly hoped what she had discovered earlier today would be her ticket out of here. Now, this planet wasn’t so bad in itself. The climate was temperate (at least that was what the locals had told her. It was late Autumn now and no way in Sarlacc’s pit she would describe this weather with frosted leaves crunching under her feet as mild), the vegetation was lush (“ _The crops we’ve haded when the Republic cameth to trade with us…_ ”), the animal life non-aggressive and coexisting peacefully with the locals (just one encounter so far with a manka cat was after all counting, statistic-wise, in the range of “non-aggressive and peaceful”).

The tricky part of trying to get out of here was that while she could easily spend the rest of her days on this planet and no bounty hunter would ever bother her, she really felt she didn’t belong in here. That she needed to be somewhere else. The restless rattle in her heart was a steady companion from dawn till dusk, every day. But the possibilities of a random transport suddenly descending from the skies and being bound towards the opposite end of the galaxy (or just a few parsecs from here) were slim to none.

So she scouted the skies, every day on the lookout, in the meantime using her craft in exchange for the lodging and food. A doctor was after all a skill universal and she would find a job wherever she went.

Well, maybe not wherever she went. Starting few months back, she had a bounty dumped on her head. With a client that was rather impossible to negotiate. It severely narrowed the opportunities of finding a legal work.

There it was. She saw it landing last night somewhere in the west, and she found on the crumbling parchment maps that it should be where the old, abandoned Republic hangar bays and docking stations were. After this planet was cut off from the main trade route and left to its own devices, the locals scrapped the hangars for useful parts, implementing them at home and on the fields. They were now forced to be self-sustainable. No piece of technology could be afforded to be wasted.

Trying to generate as little noise as possible, she meandered through the thickly growing pine trees, towards the glow of the fire. It looked from the distance as if someone made for themselves a campfire. She had debated the possibility of that ship actually carrying a bounty hunter on board, but if someone would be looking for her, she would have been apprehended at once already. Bounty hunters didn’t waste time. That someone was here for a different purpose. And she hoped she could bargain, pay or plead her way in on the ship after their business was done.

She was now so close to where the perimeter of the trees gave way to the open space that she could see both the campfire build from some dried twigs and broken door parts as well as her breath coming in puffs. She scanned the area as far as the warm light of the fire reached – there was the wall of the hangar and its wide-jaw entrance and it looked as if a ship was docked in there. There was a knapsack lying by the crates near the campfire. But there was no sign of anybody. They couldn’t have went too far, as their things were just left here. Maybe they went to retrieve something from the ship. Or maybe…

“Don’t move.” Voicecoded words of a man.

… Maybe they stood exactly behind her, with a blaster pointed at her head.

* * *

If she thought she was being stealthy, well, she wasn’t. His thermo vision had picked her up from miles’ distance. He could discard the fast, jumping movements of small rodents and occasional crawling patches of warmth, but he certainly had to pay attention to that human shape slowly, but steadily approaching his camp site. He went to circle her and apprehend from the side and when she didn’t react to him changing his position, he could assume she was being guided purely by the light of the fire. He had to admit that for a – apparently – civilian, she was doing a pretty good job.

But that could have been just a decoy. And he would take no chances.

The Mandalorian only hoped that the child would stay in one place. One would think the little one should have learned by now to listen to his guardian’s orders, but more often than not, the kid was still too curious for his own good.

When she was just by the treeline, he made his presence known.

It was too easy.

“Don’t move”, he said, pointing his blaster at her. She froze with one hand suspended mid-air, perfectly unmoving, as if suddenly treated with carbonite. He circled her to face her, but in such a way that he kept the campfire and the child in his peripheral vision. “What do you want?”

“I was looking for you.”

He tensed. Her looks didn’t spell a bounty hunter, but one never knew. She could be a rookie like the kid from Tatooine. Or a very experienced killer, the ones you could never guess just by the looks.

“Explain.”

She turned her head to look into his viewplate and appraised him visually. Breath was coming out of her nose with puffs.

“I got stranded here few months back. I saw your ship landing here last night, not far from the town, so I came to check it out. I’m looking for a ride.”

“I could be a mercenary or a bounty hunter and you could have walked right into my trap.” The funny thing was, he was both those things not so long ago.

She faltered and just kept looking at him. She looked still young, around or before her thirties. Dark hair casually tied back. A face with experiences etched into it and with a scar, but kind looking, clear, youthful. Determined eyes without a lie in them. Good quality clothes, albeit rugged at the edges and at the seams. A blaster strapped to her thigh, which she didn’t reach out for. Her looks and her behaviour confirmed her words. She then opened her mouth to say something, but had to look down for a commotion that was suddenly happening at her feet.

The child was tugging at her coat, trying to tear a colourful thread.

Sneaky like a womp rat. He was a master of perfect timing indeed.

“Is this your companion?” She had an incredulous look on her face.

The Mandalorian sheathed the blaster and picked up the child from the ground.

“Yes.”

He carried the little one back to the campfire and heard she had followed them. The Mandalorian checked on the bone broth that he had set up to brew for the kid. It looked just about right.

“I have credits.”

He turned to her. A line he had heard so often that he had almost cringed now. 

“I’m not an air taxi.”

He rummaged in his knapsack for a cup and filled it with the soup. The child’s face lit up as he handed him the steaming cup. They were good, just the two of them. Three was a crowd. And he still didn’t trust her.

“Your arm – your wound. I can fix it.”

Slowly, he turned to her.

“I’m a doctor.”

Her posture was open, her body language spoke of no subterfuge. But he had trusted that wannabe bounty hunter and had almost paid with the safety of the child. His trust was spent.

“Please, let me see it.” She made a step towards him. “I can see it’s hurting you.”

She guessed right. The wound was hurting him. And sooner or later, he would need to have it looked at by someone who could fix it proper.

“I’ll go look for the herbs.” She gestured in the general direction of the forest. It was almost winter. What herbs did she hope to find? “I know it’s cold, but the locals have shown me what to look for,” she added, as if reading his thoughts. Fair enough. “I’ll be right back.”

And she disappeared into the woods.

“What do you think, kid?” the Mandalorian asked his little green ward, joining him on the upturned crate. “Is she trouble?”

The child slurped on the broth and cooed, twitching its ears upwards.

“You’re probably right. She seemed clear. But we’ll have to see.”

_I’m not letting anyone hurt you ever again._

* * *

The Mandalorian.

Out of all races, entities, beings. The Mandalorian.

He looked though as if he entertained the idea of giving her a chance. So a chance she was going to take.

When she returned to the campsite, a bunch of herbs packed to a netted bag and a meagre flashlight lighting her way, her heart stopped in her chest. The fire had been put out, the site and the Mandalorian were gone. Had they departed without her?

“Come to the ship.” A voice to her right, from the entrance to the hangar.

 _Thank you. Thank you._ She turned off the light and came up to him. There was indeed a faint glow coming from there, but blinded by the flashlight, she had not seen it. She followed the man up the gangway to his ship and into a cabin that apparently served as both ship’s cantina and living quarters of sorts. It was a small ship.

“I need a bowl, hot water, and a… an equivalent of mortar and pestle,” she said, putting the herbs on the small table by the wall. She took a universal sanitizer from her pack, one of the last two sterile gauze pads packs that she had, a last roll of bandage and a suture and a needle, just in case, and set it all next to the herbs. Then, rolling her coat and her knapsack together, put them on the floor.

The items she had requested lay on the table, sans the cup of hot water which her patient had just now pulled out from the basic food synthesiser his ship was equipped with. It looked like a pre-Empire vessel to her, she noted in the back of her head.

She immediately set to smashing the herbs and pouring hot water over them.

“And I need you to show me the wound,” she said over the brew she was stirring.

The Mandalorian didn’t move an inch.

She might have heard some legends and legitimate tales about the Mandalorians, and knew that their amour and weapons were almost sacred to them, but she was sure eventually, they – sometimes – did remove their armour. Like, when seeing a doctor.

“I need an access just to your arm.”

She was sure she heard him sigh. And then, very reluctantly, he started to tug first on the clasps and binding of his breastplate, and after he had it loosened, he set it carefully on the other table. He then proceeded with both of the shoulder pauldrons, and the last came vambraces. The Mandalorian was standing now in front of her in just the enhanced material tunic part of his armour. Which needed to go, too, if she were to see that wound on his left arm.

He was stalling.

She was about to perhaps offer her assistance when he started to unzip and untie the material pieces he had on him. It was two-layered, she noted. First, the apparently enhanced layer, designed to absorb some of the hits, and then, the long sleeved undershirt. He had freed his left arm and sat on the stool, facing her.

She set the herb mash and the tools on the other table next to the Mandalorian and sanitised her hands. The wound was located just above the elbow and looked nasty. It seemed he sterilised it by burning it and then put a few stitches. With the lifestyle he was most probably leading, it was no wonder the wound just wouldn’t heal.

Delicately, she put her hand on his arm and felt him tense. He must not have been an adept when it came to being touched by another person. She would try to respect his personal space and finish the job quickly.

Dabbing the flesh around the wound, she explained what she would do.

“First, I will cut the stitches and sterilize the wound again. Then, I will apply fresh stitches. After this, I will put the mashed herbs on the wound and cover it with a gauze. You will need to keep it on for several hours – ideally, I should be changing the herbs every six hours, until we have used everything up.” She pointed to the green mash in the bowl. “Any questions?”

He shook his head, almost dejectedly.

“Good. I’ll be done in no time.”

She had kept her promise and after several minutes, the Mandalorian was sitting with the wound tightly bandaged and healing properly under a fluffy cover of the herbs. To his credit, and not surprisingly, he didn’t even twitch when she was putting on the stitches.

Before he had put his clothes back on, she glimpsed a large scar on his abdomen. As a doctor, it was an information of her patient being someone who actively participated in armed conflict. As a person, she wondered how many outsiders had seen so much of the feared Mandalorians as her and how many invisible boundaries had she trespassed tonight.

She might not have been a Mandalorian, but she had a code of her own. His secrets were safe with her.

“Thank you.” And he did sound grateful.

She smiled and opened her mouth to say something, but noticed a commotion at her feet.

The child was again drawn to her coat.

The Mandalorian and her looked at each other.

“My coat has a bantha wool lining. Maybe he smells something familiar.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Wait, he’s not yours?”

She was met with a stone-cold gaze of a metal helmet.

And then she laughed. The little green child joined, squeaking in his own baby way. The Mandalorian shook his head.

“I’m heading to Kooriva. I’ll drop you there.”

What…? So he’s letting her on board? A tension she wasn’t aware of gripping her left her shoulders.

“Sounds good. I appreciate it, a lot. Thank you.” And she was thanking him for more than a ride. “Please,” she reached to her inside pocket and handed him the imperial credits she had stored with her from when she was still being paid for her work. “Take this.”

He nodded and accepted the payment.

Kooriva. A planet with an infrastructure and with Republican sentiments. It was a good start.

She had a ride out of here. She would see the stars first time in months. Tears of gratitude stung in her eyes when she looked away from the Mandalorian.

Any apprehension she had towards this stranger who landed on this planet were gone the moment she saw him interacting with his child. Anyone who took a baby into their arms and set them carefully, tucking their feet warm and then fed them a soup, making sure their little hands grasped the cup securely couldn’t have been a bad guy.

It was a good start.


	2. Chapter 2

The Mandalorian was sitting in the cockpit, looking at the stars escaping with the speed of light. The child sat on his lap, nestled comfortably in the crook of his arm. A light, but reassuring weight. Its head was leaning where his arm was bandaged, and the little one was grasping the Mandalorian’s other gloved hand. The child’s eyes were droopy, lulled to sleep by the hypnotising streaks of hyperspeed stars, as well as probably the Mandalorian caressing it now and then.

Generally speaking, it was a mess. But he knew one thing. The kid’s place was with him.

Every day, the unnamed feeling he had never experienced – or maybe had experienced, but such a long time ago that his mind had spaced the memory – was burning steadily, warming him up from the inside.

Truly, they were the safest when on the move.

It wasn’t the ideal solution for keeping the bounty hunters off their necks, but it was the best one he could think of at this moment. Any remote world that came into his mind he discarded, as even on the rural Sorgan they had found themselves at gunpoint. The hunters would eventually follow them to this nameless planet by the Hydian Way, too.

He would need to think of something, soon, because they couldn’t run forever.

A beeping sounded from the console, so he gently disentangled his hand to check what was happening. He clicked the display buttons and scanned the message.

_Obviously._

He had clocked up his ship’s navicomputer to alert him at once to any disturbances or jams on the route, among other things. There was heavy traffic where Mid Rim and Expansion Region were meeting and he’d rather avoid that. The solitary way was the safe way. This is how far, then, they would go with the main hyperroute. It still was a long distance traversed smoothly.

Gently disentangling his another arm, The Mandalorian punched several buttons on the console and the Razor Crest dropped out of the hyperspace, suspended in the starry, black void. The child cooed, looking sleepily around. He checked the radar – no planets nearby. No vessels. Then, he heard the steps on the ladder leading to the cockpit.

“Is everything all right?” The doctor climbed up and joined him by the console.

“Yes.”

“Why have we stopped?”

His hyperdrive was malfunctioning, but the navi comp was a blaze. Together, they compensated and were capable of plotting a course under fifteen seconds.

However, just now, an unidentified ship had entered the radar and he wished he had the route right at this instant to punch that hyperdrive.

“I’m plotting a new course.”

She accepted his answer and didn’t pry for any details or explanations – even if she had noticed the radar indications. Wise woman. The less they knew about each other, the better for them, and for her.

The sooner they parted ways, the better for them, and for her.

“It’s time for the last check-up,” she said instead. “Come see me when you’re done. Also,” she added, pointing to the child who by this time had already woken up completely and was waving its tiny, pudgy hand at her. “I’ve heated the soup for him.”

He slightly turned his head to assess her.

“Thank you,” he said in the moment the computations for the new hyperroute were ready. And the unidentified ship was approaching steadily. They needed to go right now, so he punched the hyperdrive. His ship shoot off with a lurch and within moments they were cruising steadily.

“I’ll join you on the lower deck,” he said to her.

She nodded and made her exit down the ladder. No questions asked.

Another eight hours Kooriva. One of the worlds least frequented by bounty hunters. No guild presence there, the last he checked. Not overly friendly to outsiders. He would grab the supplies, refuel and be back off to the Outer Rim.

He scanned the prognostics and messages, double-checked whether the autopilot was on and launched correctly and that there were no more reports from the radar, and then gently secured the baby close to his chest and followed the doctor to the lower deck.

She was sitting on the floor wrapped in her cloak, cross legged, with eyes closed. Now that he took a closer look at her, her face seemed rested, different from what he had seen on that planet. The rescue had served her well.

He put the baby in the secure compartment and carefully handed it the warm canteen with the bone broth that the doctor had prepared. The kid’s ears twitched gently and it accepted the soup with a tiny squeak.

When he turned to her, she had opened her eyes, observing him.

“I’m ready,” he said.

She nodded and rose to her feet. “Let’s get to it, then.”

She had prepared everything already, so he proceeded to unstrap the beskar from his body. It was the third time he was doing this in front of her, but the procedure never stopped feeling foreign and mildly uncomfortable. Yes, he had been wounded and tended to in the past. But to remove his armour in front of a stranger was equal to stripping himself bare.

The touch was something else, though. He wasn’t so wary of it like the last time and didn’t tense like the first time she had put her hand on his skin. It was like the moment when one felt too tired to strip for a shower, resisting any action, but when finally forcing oneself to stand under the showerhead and turning the water on, the mellowing, warm feeling was a reward on its own and one was thanking oneself for making this effort. He couldn’t remember anyone tending to him with a touch like this. It was foreign, too – but not unwelcome.

“You’re sure you don’t happen to have any bacta around?” she murmured under her nose, cutting the stitches one after another, her eyes trained on his wound. Her right hand was wielding the scissors, working with practiced movements, and her other hand was encircling his bicep for stability. Warmth radiated where she touched. When he didn’t reply, she looked up to him, cool and professional, grey eyes clear.

“No.”

“Too bad.” She took her hand away, the warmth immediately replaced by the pervading coldness of his ship, and put the utensils back on the table. Then, she started to prod his flesh around the wound with gentle dabs of her finger. “It’s going to scar bad. But it healed clean. You’re good.” She gave his arm a soft pat and then her eyes widened as she looked to the side. “Hey, hey!”

She flew to the edge of the table and intercepted the child as it was climbing up, using the crates on the floor. He took this moment to dress up.

“Scissors and needles are no toys for babies.” She was holding the child in the crook of her arm and the little one kept looking from her to him with squeaks and coos. She looked to him, amused. “Here, let me take you to your-” she left the sentence hanging as she was handling him the child, giving him an enquiring, yet gentle look.

He paid only half attention to what she had said, because right at this moment, for the first time, he was cradling the little one without the barrier of beskar between them. His chest felt every wiggle. He started to feel gentle warmth radiating from the tiny, precious creature as it looked up to him.

The Mandalorian slowly walked up to the secure compartment and deposited the child there.

“Scissors. Needles. No toys,” he stressed out with the help of his gloved forefinger, unable to form entire sentences. The child blinked. He sighed. Someone needed to watch over the kid all the time or he would lose his mind.

“I can watch over him until we’re at Kooriva.”

He turned to her, the unnamed doctor. She probably referred to him as the Mandalorian. And both of them called the child – the child. Three nameless entities.

“Thank you. I appreciate.”

He trusted her with his wound. With the food for the kid. She seemed discreet. Didn’t ask questions as to why the child was so unique. So he donned his armour and left for the cockpit, hoping to get a wink of sleep before they reached their destination.

* * *

She had joined him in the cockpit for the final approach to the planet and was sitting next to him in the co-pilot’s chair. It was quiet between them, the child observing the approach from behind. He would need to feed it first thing they landed, something solid and good, because a soup alone could not feed a growing baby.

“ _This is Nurgad control tower. Head to the docking bay T22._ ”

“Nurgard? They must be crowded if they’re hailing you from there,” she let it slip, more to herself than to him.

“You know this place?”

“I was here on several occasions.”

He tensed, his instincts trained to pick up anything with a meaning, and she seemed to sense it.

“Relax, Mando.” She raised her hand. Her eyes were clear as she scanned his visor. “Who you are and where you’re going with the child are your business. I… I need to find my way as well, but I certainly don’t want to interfere with yours.”

The double-meaning of her words probably had escaped her. He replied nothing to that and opened the frequency to hail the planet below.

“Copy that, Nurgard.”

He shot through the atmosphere and glided them over a lush forest stretching as far as the eye could see. Straight ahead was Nurgard, a town pretending to the name of a city, build near a lake and with vegetation so dense that he scrapped the lower branches of a tree upon the docking.

The doctor was ready and packed when he opened the doors, the hydraulic condensation surrounding them in misty puffs. She looked to him and nodded, smiling a little smile. So that was it. He helped out a stranded girl and she had helped him in return.

He looked down to his feet. And took the kid into his arms. _No chances will be taken._

“I know a good place to eat. For him.” She nodded to the little one in his arms as they descended down the gangway.

Even through his armour, he could feel the hot, humid air enveloping him. It literally felt like entering an oven, the warmth quickly permeating him straight to the bones and the beads of perspiration dripping down his back. And the helmet wasn’t helping, too. The holonet didn’t joke when it said this planet wasn’t particularly made for any other species but Koorivans. The sooner they left this place, the better.

“Lead the way,” he said, throwing a fuel coin to the Sullustan who had just entered the docking area from the workshop.

She smiled happily, looking eager to help, and the kid squeaked. There was definitely some chemistry there. The doctor had made a good job helping him to watch over the little one. Whatever happened now, picking her up was a good deal.

Entering a Koorivar city, its streets partially shaded from the scorching sun by the abundant growth, was akin to descending into a field of crickets. The subtle and not so subtle wheezing, whistling and hissing of the crowds of tall Koorivans pierced through his helmet receptors and grated on his nerves, but the child seemed unbothered. It was turning its head to take everything in, the colours, the flying bugs, the hanging vines. And when its eyes landed on the doctor, who was leading them with steady steps, tiny green palms shot out, trying to reach the bantha coat.

“You want the bantha or the doctor?”

She turned to them, smiling, looking straight into his visor.

“I heard that. And we’re there.” She pointed with her chin to a stony entrance, half-covered with hanging moss and other plants he didn’t recognise. She entered first, and he followed her, passing under the waterfall of green leaves and vines. He was already few steps into the dimly lit and sparsely crowded eatery when he realised that the kid had grasped a particularly long and leafy vine, determined to take it with it to the table.

“Let it go, kid.” He tried to disentangle the child’s grasp with his hand, but it held fast, cooing and seemingly chuffed about this new game.

“Here, let me.”

She was by him and set his hand aside gently, working her fingers through the smaller, chubbier, green ones. The kid’s face fell when the vine disappeared from his grasp and she stroked its chest with her knuckles, reassuringly.

He felt something stir inside him. Did she and the child connect when he was taking a nap in the cockpit? She pointed a table by the wall and he sat the child between them. His back was to the wall and he had visual access to every corner of this place. Bearing a wide grin, the doctor bent to straighten the collar of the kid’s tiny-sized cloak.

“What are you so happy about?” he asked. She was growing more caring about the child whenever he looked. But maybe it was a womanly thing, to give freely their affection to smaller creatures.

“It’s good to change your environment from time to time.”

With that he couldn’t argue.

“And I’m hungry.”

He looked closely at her. She was positively beaming when a female Koorivan approached them shortly.

“What for you, Outsiders?”

“Soft meat for the child.”

“Rings of Hudalla. No onion,” the doctor said with a smile.

“Picky Outsiders. Coming right up,” grumbled the host and left.

While they waited, he scanned the surrounding with his normal and enhanced vision for any trace of danger or unwelcome surprise. Most of the guests were natives, with their horns and noses in their bowls, and the two Ishi Tibs in merchants’ garb and another two Sullustan mechanics were also minding their business, too busy chatting between each other to pay any attention to the Mandalorian’s unusual party.

He turned to the doctor and was met with her careful gaze.

“Thank you for accepting me on board,” she said, scanning his visor as if trying to pierce it to reach to his eyes. “I waited for so long… Thank you.”

He nodded and in that moment the host returned, setting the bowl of tender meat pieces before the child and something that looked like discs covered in sizzling, brown bacon before the doctor. He gave the matron credits due for the meal and she snatched them, leaving them without a word.

“No, please, I can pay for myself,” the doctor was already reaching to her pocket.

“It’s fine.”

She studied him and nodded slowly. And before even touching her food, she turned to the child.

“Here you go, little one. No, that’s not for you, it’s too heavy. This is for you.” She gave it one of the pieces and the kid swallowed it whole. Only when they were through half of the bowl did she touch her food. Feeding the child with one hand, she took one of the rings to her mouth with the other hand and sunk her teeth in it, tearing a piece. Some juice dribbled down her chin and she wiped it off with her little finger. It looked damn good. And the kid was happy with his food, too. He needed to take it on the go for them. 

She had just managed to take another bite and wipe her fingers when a foreign voice took them all by surprise.

“Who are my eyes seeing?”

So engrossed was he in the observation that he had failed to notice a Koorivan who stood by the counter close to their table, speaking straight to the doctor. He cursed under his breath for his lack of vigilance and the doctor visibly tensed upon hearing the voice. She was rigid and her face from friendly, relaxed and warm went to tense and closed-off, an indifferent mask. She now had the same reserved aura around her as when he had met her in the forest.

“Neyssir Dyroth,” she said in a level tone, adding a subtle gesture to aid her words.

“Siri Reed,” the Koorivan greeted her, accompanied by a gesture as well. “Haven’t seen you around lately. How’s business?”

“It’s good.”

“Your nervous twitch says otherwise.”

* * *

She was hungry. There was a hole in her stomach and she was surprised that it didn’t alert the Mandalorian. And when they had finally landed, not even his intimidating aura was able to hold her joy upon the prospect of food.

To say this man had a presence was a grave misunderstanding. Yes, he was a great caretaker and she wasn’t scared of him per se. Yes, she had noticed the carbonite freezer and guessed he must have been a retired or a vacationing bounty hunter and the fact that he hadn’t apprehended her build a trust in her. But he exuded such an aura that could not be compared with anything. It was a presence that she did not want to disturb. If she could. So, she stayed in a respectful distance. Wary of his boundaries. Promptly kept shut about the carbonite, lest he remembered his calling and decided he would want to earn few credits.

No. She somehow doubted he would do that. But still, it was best to keep the distance. It was a miraculous ride and she would not peep into the teeth of a gifted horse.

The fact that the destination was Kooriva was adding to the incredible conjunction of miracles. It was the planet she least expected a bounty hunter to emerge from the bushes. She could start off nice there, if she spoke to the right people in the right order.

And the child. How had such a creature found its way with a man clad from head to toe in armour was beyond curious. But she would ask no questions. This was just a ride. A small gift to be in the presence of those two. Accept it and don’t look back. She was more than sure that the Mandalorian would take the best care of the child after they would have parted ways today.

“Who are my eyes seeing?”

And that was a Koorivan she would rather not speak in the first place.

“Neyssir Dyroth.” _Keep calm. You’ve done it countless times_.

“Siri Reed.” In the corner of her eye she saw the Mandalorian leaning his head a fraction to the side. Had he heard her name? Did he know she was a wanted person? “Haven’t seen you around lately. How’s business?”

“It’s good.”

“Your nervous twitch says otherwise.”

Blasted Koorivans. Of course he would see right through her.

“I was taking a break. Might drop by your office later.” _Kindly go away, Dyroth._

“Please do, little human. Always welcome.” He smiled, his gaze lingering for a moment upon the child, and dropping a coin onto the counter, he sauntered away to the exit without looking back.

“Trouble?” asked the Mandalorian with his modulated voice.

She allowed herself to take a big breath and lean on the back of the chair.

“Nuisance. An old associate.”

An unspoken question of what was she doing in the past hung in the air. But the Mandalorian would not ask it, she was sure of it. _Their_ association ended today and no more details were necessary. The less they knew, the better.

The baby squeaked.

“No, you can’t have this, little one. It’s processed food, and you need nutrients to grow strong and healthy. You can eat it when you’re as old as me.”

She could swear she heard the Mandalorian make a sound and looked at him questioningly, but he said nothing.

It was fine. All was fine. The encounter with Dyroth stressed her our and drove away her appetite, so she would pack the second ring to have a snack for later, but not before saying goodbye to the child. She took it on her lap and picked up some fallen crumbs of meat off its clothes.

“It was great pleasure meeting you.” The little creature looked up to her, blinking and squeaking. “Be a good child to your guardian, ok?”

And then the blood in her veins froze as she heard a safety switch of a blaster clicking from the entrance to the eatery.

“It was damn hard to find you.”

The Mandalorian was faster. Siri only managed to see that it was a human hunter before a chair came flying in his direction, kicked by the beskar-protected leg and then she and the child were scooped and dragged on the floor behind the counter. She heard the patrons fleeing from the eatery. It was painfully close quarters in this place. They needed to get out.

A blaster shot tore through the plates hanging on the wall behind them and the clay and glass clattered around them. She hugged the child close to her, embracing its head.

“Be a good bounty and come out.”

The Mandalorian leaned over the counter and shot a few times, forcing the hunter into hiding.

“I’m so sorry!”

“What are you apologising for?” he asked without looking to her, scanning the wall behind them.

“They’re after me! I risked the child’s safety. I’m so sorry…”

“You have a bounty on your head?” The Mandalorian turned his attention fully to her. Siri saw her paled reflection in his helmet.

“Yes.”

“Then we don’t know who is he after.”

“What?”

A chair flew over the counter and shattered the remains of the plates along with some wine bottles. More steps sounded and entered the eatery.

“Come on, Mando! You and that gremlin.”

“Now we know,” said the Mandalorian. “Come on, there is a back exit there. I’ll cover you.” He pointed to the back door that were ajar.

 _Don’t tell me we’re both wanted._ She grabbed her blaster and lunged to the door, hearing the fire opening behind her and soon the heavy steps of the Mandalorian followed.

“There’s the exit,” Siri panted and they run through a narrow corridor, the chase on their tail. Wanted or not, she will not let them have this little one. She was holding so tight to the baby that her arm was losing the feeling, cramped.

The Mandalorian ran past her, kicked the door open and they jumped into the humid heat of the street, running back to the ship. A blaster sounded behind them, angry red hits spattering the stone walls. One of the shots nicked Siri in the arm. They were close. Just one more corner.

The Mandalorian grabbed her after they rounded that corner.

“I’ll finish them off. Run to the ship. When you’re in, initiate a lockdown.”

“There’s too many of them!”

“Run with the child.”

His first priority.

She nodded and ran. She could do this.

No one bothered her on the street as she sprinted and soon she was by their docking bay. The Sullustan that had received them was absorbed in wrenching a turbothrust converter coil, he didn’t even look up. Siri was about to thank the Maker in her thoughts when someone walked out of the shadow of the ship, blocking her way.

“Not so fast, little human.”

Dyroth. She stopped, panting, sweat rolling down her temples and her back in streams.

“Step aside. This is not your business.”

“Oh, but it is. It was a very good deal.” The Koorivan was approaching her steadily, blaster in his hand pointed at her and the child. There was no way she could shield it with her body were any open fire break out.

“You don’t stand a chance against a Mandalorian.” She would talk her way out of this until he is back.

“Maybe. Maybe not. But the deal was good.” A step into her direction.

“And you have no idea what you’re up against. Keep your head low, Dyroth.”

“Nimble with words like a fox. But maybe you want to share the reward with me, Siri Reed. They’re paying handsomely.”

“You disgust me.”

The child cooed.

_Your dad will be back soon._

“You know the rules.”

“You lizard!” she could not believe the audacity. “I could’ve shipped those converters to the Gungans instead of you. They would’ve liked it better!”

Dyroth smiled.

But whatever he had wanted to say was lost, because a shot from behind her put a smoking hole through his chest.

“Come on, hurry.”

Siri didn’t have to be told twice and soon they were both inside, scrambling to the cockpit. The Mandalorian took the child from her arms and after making sure that it’s unharmed, put it in its crib by the wall.

Only when they were in the hyperspace, off to somewhere in the Outer Rim did her thoughts un-freeze and she absorbed what in the Sarlacc’s pit had just happened. And what would possibly happen now.

She had expected a barrage of question, but instead the Mandalorian told her to come with him to the lower deck.

“You’re hurt.”

What? Was she hurt?

Oh, Maker, she was hurt.

Her right sleeve was drenched in blood and only now acknowledging the wound brought about the pain. It was just a nick, but it had bled profusely. She had probably left some of her blood in the cockpit as well.

“The first aid kit is…”

But he had already all the tools out.

“Sit down.”

Can’t oppose that command. So she sat. And when the helmet bore into her, she sighed and stripped down to her undershirt, giving the Mandalorian access to a really nasty tear in her upper right arm. If she was counting in her head correctly, there was only a universal sanitiser left. And the suture with the needle. Yes, that was all that he had put on the table.

“That was a really good tunic.” She held it now close to her chest to not freeze to the bone.

“It is imperial.” He had removed his gloves and sanitised his hands.

“Sturdy imperial fabric, can’t fool your eye.” She looked up to his visor. He must have probably felt stripped bare when she had been tending to him. Now it was her turn. A man full clad in beskar armour, towering over her and she sitting in a tank-topped undershirt. “Can’t afford to throw away good stuff.”

He grabbed her arm in his both hands, gently. They were warm, slightly rough compared to how soft the skin on his arm felt. What was the universe that she had wandered into? Must have been the adrenaline and the blood loss, and the overwhelming fear for the child in her heart.

She couldn’t help a hiss escaping her lips when he slathered her wound with the sanitiser. A convulsion almost crawled through her and she leaned her head on his breastplate. He worked in silence and Siri closed her eyes. It was the sharp twinge of an open wound, his warm hand encircling her arm and stings of the suture. She was focusing on her breathing. In, deeply, out, evenly.

She opened her eyes and straightened when he let go of her arm. With a gesture conveying certainly not an undying love to the late Empire, he cut a clean strip of her tunic and bandaged her wound. Then, he handed her the bantha cloak and she tucked herself warm. She was on the run and needed new clothes. She was on the run and had no idea where she was currently headed.

“Thank you.”

He put his gloves back on and sat opposite her. No strip of Mandalorian skin was visible. Only the beskar.

“So, what converters did you want to ship to the Gungans?” asked a low, modulated voice of the Mandalorian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are the best! I didn't expect this awesome response to the first chapter! I hope you enjoyed this one as much as I had fun writing it. After Chapter 7, I had to give our Mandadlorian some quality time with his favourite person in the universe. Also, who watched TROS? I think I died a little, in every way possible. And in case I'm not here before the Christmas Eve (and I do hope to be there on the Christmas Eve), have a wonderful time, my lovely Readers, stay warm, rest well, eat a lot and enjoy time with your families.  
> Love,  
> N.


	3. Chapter 3

“What are you?”

Siri stared at the Mandalorian helmet and the helmet stared back at her. For a person who guarded his privacy with literally steel determination, he was quite adamant at wanting to get to the bottom of other peoples’ secrets. She supposed it must have been a universal disposition of all good bounty hunters. Something necessary to survive in this world where one slip turned one from a hunter to a prey.

And it must have had something to do with wanting to know who had boarded his ship, too, for sure.

“I’m a doctor. And I was smuggling medical equipment and supplies out of a post-imperial facility,” Siri said, keeping eye-helmet contact with him. Truth bomb on deck.

“Why the contraband? The Empire is gone,” he said. No light tones coloured his voice. For Maker’s sake, so suspicious.

But then Siri was hit with something. Yes. Precisely. It was true. The Empire was gone and disbanded four years ago, by the rulings of the Galactic Concordance, followed by the total restructuration of Empire’s systems. The Rebel Alliance was also gone, officially giving way to the New Republic.

And here in space, she was alone.

There was no one: no post-imperial machinations she had been listening on to hidden in the maintenance shafts, no Republic allies she had been then sending the coded messages. She had lived a quite purposeful life up to this point. Her mission was well defined. Her tasks were crystal clear. Forge a record here. Take a detour to that checkpoint. Remove logs of the ship there. It was wild, but at the same time structured and predictable. True, many times, it was like playing with an unprotected grenade while balancing on a rope thrown over a river of sizzling, burping lava. But she supposed those on the field had it many times tighter.

All of this was left behind when she found herself on that nameless planet, cut off from all she had been working on. Her trail had gone cold and perhaps both sides believed her dead. No more mission. No more contribution for the Light side.

The Mandalorian in front of her was very much alive and very much real, though. As was his child. And the more she shared with him, the better their pooled resources would become, perhaps even producing something that none of them could separately think of. Yes, she was just a ride, for how long – unknown. She had no idea where to go from here. She had only planned so far as to catch the ride with this man and be somewhere where the restless calling sounded. But one thing she was certain of at this moment – she genuinely and fiercely wanted to see the child safe.

They were alone here. Both hunted. Both running.

“It is gone. But not really. Something has started to shift in the late imperial structures.” Siri tightened the cloak around here.

“What do you mean?” He now sounded more curious and alarmed than suspicious.

“I…” Say it. “During the Empire days, I was working for them.”

Silence punched the air between her and the Mandalorian, creating a screaming vacuum.

“No, not what you think.” Siri waved her hand, painfully jolting the fresh wound, and the cloak slipped from her arms. She secured it one more time around her. “From the very beginning it was a double-work for the Rebellion. You don’t turn away a medic just like that, not when you have an entire army and a legion of high-ranking officers to keep running in their finest condition. They knew that. They were smart asses. And I was using my limited access to send as much intel to the Rebels as I could. As well as rerouting few shipments of supplies to them.” She noticed the Mandalorian had uncrossed his arms, resting them interlaced together on his lap. “After Jakku, I was officially ‘pardoned’, just like the rest of them, but it was decided to keep my position running. Another set of eyes on the former enemy always comes in as handy. And who could guess? We were right.”

“The Imperial Remnant is up to something,” he said slowly.

For the love of Solo. Did he know more about this, too?

“Yeah. It looks like they are. I just--after witnessing how the cogs of their machinery operate… I really doubt a change happens like this.” She snapped her fingers, dislocating the cloak again. “But you know what? Maybe it really was the Emperor. He was one dark presence. Maybe after he died, the grip on people’s hearts lessened, allowing them to breathe. To see. Some of them are good guys.”

“You have bounty issued by the former imperial command,” said the Mandalorian.

No question here was necessary. It was quite obvious who wanted her captured for all the stolen shipments. Siri nodded.

“What was the Empire wants me and the New Republic has no official association with me. I don’t exist for them. So… I’m on my own.”

“And where are the Gungans in all of this?” asked his modulated baritone voice. She was shivering under her cloak, goose bumps attacking her skin in rising waves, but the Mandalorian would not let her go until he heard the full story. Maker, Gungans were really not the most important here.

“It became known in some circles that I have access to the galaxy’s one of the most technically advanced engineering and I would get pinged at times.” She was sure her ears were growing hot. “There was this moment when I had a homeless surplus of heat converters and both Kooriva and Naboo contacted me. I was so stupid…” Siri closed her eyes briefly, managing with sheer willpower to stop her hand from punching her forehead. “I believed the Koorivans needed it more. But look at those stinking lizards now.” How could she even believe that Kooriva would be a good start was beyond her. But it was gone too, now.

“I see.” The Mandalorian scooted few inches closer to her on his chair. “Have you heard of the name Pershing?”

She looked up to him. The man clad in an impenetrable beskar was actually revealing her something. And Siri have heard of that name. She bit on her lip, searching where exactly.

“… Yes, I have.”

The Mandalorian sat straighter in his chair.

“Do you know the man?”

“Barely. I saw him few times, few years ago. In the post-imperial facility. What is he to you?”

He clicked something on his vambrace and a holo image of doctor Pershing came to life.

“That’s him,” she said, scrutinising the image. “Can you zoom into his insignia? It looks as if he had changed division.”

He clicked something again.

„The image is still blurry. I can’t be sure.”

“What do you know about him?”

She crossed her arms.

“Not much. It was a long time ago.” Siri looked to the wall and then back to him. The Mandalorian seemed tense. “He seemed a nervous guy.”

He clicked on the vambrace and the holo image of doctor Pershing disappeared.

And then the ship rocked in a convulsion. Siri and the Mandalorian managed to grab the table for support and then looked at each other.

And they ran to the cockpit.

“We are supposed to be in hyperspace, Mando,” she panted, heart racing, climbing first up the ladder. She thought she heard him grunt something as he followed right behind her, but then another tremor rocked the ship and her foot slipped.

Hitting something hard. Like maybe a beskar breastplate. Siri looked down and had only managed to catch a glimpse of the Mandalorian gripping at the side of his helmet when the ship rocked violently again and she was thrown painfully into the metal wall of the shaft, the air almost knocked out of her lungs.

“…Kriffin’ hell.” She clambered to the cockpit on her knees, fresh stitches on her arm protesting loudly, and it immediately became known what was causing the disturbances. Siri sprang to her feet and Mando ran past her, beating her to the baby who was about to launch another attack at the console’s yoke. He held the little one in his one hand and clicked on the console command with the other.

“Let me hold him.” Siri outstretched her hands. The Mandalorian took a second to deliberate and then handed her the cooing baby who in all its innocence was not having the slightest clue as to what trouble playing with the ship’s console could land them into. Most probably, as Siri could swear sometimes it seemed as if the little one knew more than it let on. Sly little womp rat.

Mando was in the meantime ensuring the damage control, having jumped into the pilot’s chair.

“Did he actually drop out of hyperspace?” Siri asked incredulously as he was punching commands into the console. Outside, the stars were flickering, no longer a hyperspeed streak.

“He did.”

“Is he doing that often?” The baby was looking between her and Mando, a squeak, a coo, a twitch of filigree ears.

“That’s his first.” He didn’t look up, checking the radar scans and map. “But we’re past the Rimma Trade Route, at least.”

“Do you have a plan?”

His hand stilled over the console.

“We’re going to the Outer Rim,” he said at last.

After the navicomputer spit out a new route, Mando punched the hyperdrive. It must have been sheer luck that they didn’t emerge straight into some planet’s core or a vessel or other space monster.

“You like to play, huh?” said Siri to the child as it squeaked, trying to get a solid grasp on her cloak. “I’ll go play with him,” she addressed the Mandalorian, who still wasn’t looking at her.

“Yeah.” He was cradling one side of his helmet. In the place where she had quite accidentally, but still, kicked him.

“Oh… I’m so sorry about that.” Siri literally felt blood turning cold in her veins. In the commotion she forgot that it was not the breastplate, but the helmet that she kicked. As a guest, she should really avoid hurting her host. “I’ll bring you some ice.” They really needed some bacta. Seriously. Siri wistfully though of all the supplies in her late office.

She handed him the child who by this time had managed to grab a fistful of her cloak and as she passed the little one into Mando’s hands, the cloak slid off from her shoulders onto the beskar pauldron and the arm underneath it.

“Hey, let it go.” The child needed a proper toy. The child needed family. Warmth. Nourishing food. Still bent over Mando, Siri gently peeled chubby, green digits off her cloak and then squeezed gently the tiny hand. “We’ll get you a toy, little one. I’ll be right back,” she addressed the last sentence to the beskar helmet.

She was back up with him in no time and after handing him the ice, she had to touch upon something that he had said before.

“Mando, what about this doctor Pershing?”

He sat unmoving, seemingly as if not having heard her question. But she was beginning to learn of this language of beskar and silence. She bid her time, patiently.

“He was involved in an attempt to put the child through an experiment.”

“What? What did he do to it?”

“The child is with me now.”

She wished she could do more to repair the damage she had caused, but she hoped the ice would alleviate some of the bruise that was definitely forming right now under that shiny helmet.

But there was one more very important thing.

“Where do you keep the dry rations? Do you have any left?”

“They’re by the carbonite freezer. Not much left.”

“I’m sure they’ll be enough for the child.”

“Try him.”

“Watch me.”

* * *

That woman could kick. Had the hit been aimed at his jaw, it would surely have been dislocated. The stars had burst bright in front of his eyes when he felt her foot connecting with his helmet and sure enough, there was an angry pulsing under the helmet even after he had applied the ice.

The Mandalorian sighed. If they left the doctor on the next planet they landed on, it would not improve their situation. He had a bounty on him and the child was wanted by the Imperial Remnant, for some obscure reason. This situation needed to be fixed at its core, not on its fringes. He wanted to ask the child what he thought only to realise that it was on the lower deck with the doctor.

She seemed to be taking a good care of the kid, and the kid in turn was delighted with the doctor. If there would be no more almost dislocated jaws, he supposed she could hang with them for few more jumps, until she found what she was looking for.

He heard her climbing up to the cockpit – with the baby.

It was more than its cooing and squeaks. He could swear he actually _felt_ the little one’s presence when it was near him. The vibrance was hard to miss.

She had set the child in its crib and then joined him in the co-pilot’s chair.

“He’s tired now, he should sleep like a stone. I fed him some of the dry rations, but we need real food.”

He knew that. He looked to the doctor. She also looked pretty tired herself. And pretty beaten up. She had went and salvaged the torn shirt, which had only one sleeve now, the stitched blaster wound uncovered. Something akin to pity was germinating in him, but he strongly assumed she would not want his pity. Someone who smuggled supplies right under the nose of the Empire must have been someone hardened for tougher times, preferring action and resolution, and not commiseration. She was no family doctor. More like a field doctor. The few scars on her exposed arm and defined muscles a testament to this.

She looked to the map.

“There’s nothing here.”

The Razor Crest had stopped somewhere on the edge on the known regions. Up ahead were territories uncharted, a place he had decided earlier to give a shot. What he intended to do was quite risky, but the little presence behind him reminded him that there was no time for hesitation and that he had no choice to pick a favourite vacation spot for them.

“We’re going there.” He rolled the ship few degrees through its port-side.

There, in the distance, shimmered a humongous cloud of ionised gas and behind that, there should be a place that an ally shared with him a long time ago. If the tip he had received then was true, a temporary refugee could be waiting for them there. All the Ancient Gods knew he needed a few breaths of rest and a place to regroup, and the child deserved more than constantly running, its life at gunpoint.

“It’s beautiful.”

It was. Deadly, unpardonably if committing a mistake.

“It’s straight into the outskirts of the uncharted regions. Will I ever see the daylight again?”

He appraised the ionised cloud of gas, shimmering, brilliantly orange-blue. It would speak in their favour, hiding their trail. There was nothing on the starcharts in that region. They would disappear like a Jawan in the Sarlacc’s pit.

“Yes.”

“How is your…” she gestured to his cheek.

“It’s fine.” It was pounding and smarting.

The good doctor was doing everything to earn her ride on his ship.

Siri Reed. No, it was the first time he had heard that name. She must have been a good spy in her time under the Empire to remain undetected for so long and to remain alive. Look at that sweet face. It must have lulled the vigilance of many, too.

The kid trusted her. He wished to have him on his lap right now, to hold him and know he’s safe, to have those big, curious eyes and grabby, clawed digits to try in their earnest to pilot the ship with him, but the ride through this cloud would require his utmost concentration and swiftness of reflexes drilled through the years.

“Anything I can help you with?”

He looked to her.

“Yeah. Hold tight the child.”

He was setting up the radar and navicomputer as the doctor settled back in the chair.

Grabbing the steering yoke, the Mandalorian set the controls to manual and adjusted his helmet’s visor to thermovision. He grabbed the throttle and sent the Razor Crest hurtling straight into the gas cloud. Just before the ship plunged into the cloud, he eased up on the throttle and sailed gently into the ionised dust.

Relying on the indications from his thermovision and the radar displays, he manoeuvred the ship through the maze of gas, keeping an eye on the forward movement vector and the azimuth he punched into the navi comp earlier. So far so good. The steel hull groaned once when he caught on a tendril of plasma and Razor Crest rocked violently, but other than this, it wasn’t a bumpy ride. He kept perfectly still inside, processing all the indications his systems reported and translating it into minute movements of the yoke.

With one final thrust, the Razor Crest shot out of the cloud into the clear void.

“Good job,” said the doctor quietly. The child cooed sleepily.

Up ahead, the radar picked up something. A star system. He rushed the ship in that direction, and true indeed, it was there, the third planet. No larger structures below, mostly forests, tundra, dwarfish trees, lakes. Some scattered forms of life. The Mandalorian checked the fuel reserves – it would be enough just to make one ride back to a fuel depot somewhere in the more inhabited region of space.

He calibrated the navigation to the approximate coordinate he had and the Razor Crest descended through a thick layer of overcast clouds and a frosty haze into the solid ground and landed by a sharp mountain slope, partially hidden from the aerial view by thick growth of pines. 

They had prepared in silence and left the ship. It was cold here.

It actually felt like they wandered into the dark side of the absolute zero. 

“It’s either unbearably hot or freezing cold, nothing in between.” breathed the doctor, her breath smoking, tucking the baby tight into a small blanket and pressing it close to her chest. 

He couldn’t argue with that. He started to feel the pinpricks of the freezing air as soon as they had stepped out of the immediate radius of the Razor Crest and set out in search of civilisation – this place that his ally had told him about. If it even existed. Judging from the planet’s layout, it couldn’t have been a trap. This place was cut off, no industrial structures. Seemingly, no civilization.

The snow was crunching under their feet and the Doctor beside him kept braving the strong wind that picked up as soon as they left the cover of thick trees. She looked pale, as if her blood had retreated to the deeper parts of her body. The Mandalorian displayed the navi layer under his helmet and checked their direction – they needed to correct their course. 

She wouldn’t hear him through the tempest of the wind, so he put a hand on her shoulder and when he had her attention, he nodded where the slopes winded, where the Navi compass indicated to go. The doctor had on her literally two thin layers of clothes and he could feel under the palm of his hand the topography of her shoulder. Consequently, he noted in the back of his head that no matter how much she had survived, exposing oneself to such frigid temperatures could end their escapade very quickly. She looked to him through narrowed eyes, trying to withstand the onslaught of the wind and nodded. The baby in her arms followed their exchange with its narrowed, blinking eyes. It must have been cold, too and it looked as if with their mightiest fighting the sleep.

_You’re going to have a home. I’ll make sure of it._

After dusk began to set over this frigid place, which was pretty soon after they had set out, a shape of a settlement loomed in the distance. Like a shot of Corellian whisky, adrenaline spread through his capillaries, mobilising him into total focus. They had no idea what to expect. They needed to be ready. They had the fuel to run back from here, if it became necessary, and despite feeling like this walk took forever and a few moments more, the ship was still close by. They could make a tactical retreat in few quick moves.

They stopped and the doctor looked to him.

“Do you know what to expect?”

It was surreal how she seemed at times to read in his thoughts.

“No. Keep the child close.”

“You don’t have to tell me that.”

Her dark brown hair mussed by the wind and cheeks coloured by the frost, she held his gaze – or at least where she thought his eyes would be. Every time she looked to him, she seemed to plunge fearlessly into the depths of his helmet, as if wanting to penetrate the beskar. Not minding the wind trying to peel her away from the surface of this rock. Of course she would hold the child close to her.

He nodded and turned to the way ahead of them.

Only to be greeted by a sight of a lone person clad from head to toe in steel, fur and leather, standing in a small distance from them. No features peaked through the thick cover of clothes or the sturdy helmet, but he deemed the person distinctly female.

Using a sharpened staff for support, the person walked closer to them and stopped few steps away. They clicked something on their helmet and the shaded-glass visor slid back, allowing a set of dark brown eyes full of wrath – not anger, not hostility, but wrath – to aim with its ion torpedoes at the doctor. And he saw the doctor tightening her grip on the child.

The person spoke, their voice from under the helmet rough and unwelcoming, not leaving any space for arguments.

“You have the Empire written all over you. Tell me one reason why I should let you walk away from this place alive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys!!! When I posted the first chapter, I honestly had no freaking idea it would gather this much interest. It was just something that I had on my mind and wanted to share with you, because the world needs our stories, because each and every one makes one particular person very happy, and that’s why one has to publish, to make that one Reader happy. I’ve read so many small and underrated stories that were hanging on the internet for years with just few likes and no reviews, but they were brilliant, precious and brought me joy.
> 
> Anyway. Your response to this story is making me flabbergasted!!! I’m so happy!! So sorry for the long wait this time. I wish I could say “update every Caturday”, but sometimes life stubbornly gets in the way. But I will continue to update, as I know how this story develops, how it ends, what happens etc etc. And I genuinely want to make you, my lovely Readers, happy and updated. It’s my first time writing in parts and publishing immediately. There is no going back to fix a plot hole haha. Sometimes a research on how to pilot a starship or the Star Wars timeline takes longer than anticipated. But the bottomline is, writing this is fun to me, and a great joy that you’re having fun with me too. 
> 
> For anyone interested, I have a fanwriting-related tumblr: n7r9.tumblr.com
> 
> A belated word of explanation – this story starts after the events of The Mandalorian Chapter 6, preceding the events of Chapter 7. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! It was slow development this time, but necessary to set the stage for the next chapter.  
> See you soon!  
> Love always,  
> N.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the long wait! I hope the length and the contents will be rewarding after this long waiting for the next chapter. Also, please forgive me any mistakes. I fine-combed the story, but there still might be something lurking. Anyway, I hope you have an enjoyable read and thank you for sticking with me! <3 As always, your comments and kudos make me smile like the silliest person in the galaxy and feed my writer's heart.  
> Love,  
> N.

Siri stood tense, cold tremor shaking her body from the core as the woman held her with her unrelenting gaze. Whoever she was, she could tell instantly the imperial past threaded into Siri’s clothes. She felt very alone right now, on this planet far from any route, far from anyone she could have called family or friends, with only people merely accepting her presence – or point blank hostile to her.

“We’re friends,” said the Mandalorian, taking a step towards the woman.

She in turn shifted her eyes to him and then looked briefly at the bundle in Siri’s arms. “Not mine.” She was now targeting Mando.

“A man by the name of Jardalt. He said we could stop here. To lay low for a while.”

Upon hearing the name the woman seemed to soften her stance, but still didn’t make any inviting gestures.

Jardalt. With absolute certainty Siri could admit to not having heard of that name. She hoped though that the formidable looking woman here would recognise it and let them at least warm themselves somewhere inside.

“Who are you?”

The Mandalorian looked to Siri and she knew what to do. She opened the blanket that the child was wrapped in, so that the woman could glimpse what was in the bundle.

“The Empire wants it,” said Mando.

There was a tense silence broken only by the snow blowing across them, and then the woman turned back without a word, starting a trek towards the settlement. Siri looked to Mando – he nodded briefly and they followed the warrior’s steps.

She noticed the blanket had shifted, so she tucked it more securely around the child with her stiffed hands. This place was madness. She was freezing like never before in her life, not even that flash shipment to Hoth where she had to wait one hour until the door to the base were opened had mauled her this way. One had to take into consideration that she had been equipped then with a fully operational uniform. But still.

It was one of the very few occasions when she had actually came into contact with the rebels. And not just any rebels. It was all a flash, really, and only after glimpsing the famed Han Solo and his inseparable Wookie did Siri realise that she had been sent with this last minute request into the heart of the Rebel Alliance. As an inside source working and living in the inner security circles of the Empire, she didn’t want to host within her sensitive intel. When in the imperial structures, she avoided even thinking of it, because, a superstition or a real thing, she was wary of someone hearing her thoughts. She remembered that when she was very little, a relative had taught her this game. Whatever it was, a real memory, a real thing, or just something used as a good luck charm to grant her balance and calmness, it had worked. She had continued serving the Alliance with her skills as a spy until her ship had crashed.

Right now, Siri felt as if her thoughts were reaching sub-zero temperature too, solidifying motionless, and she was unable to joggle them and make them useful. She was cold and almost delirious, but this was not Hoth, so she could afford herself this slip. There was someone beside her who held the safety of the baby as a highest priority, and she was sure that if she failed, that someone would make sure the child was warm and safe. A shared responsibility. Half-autopilot.

Hold to the baby. Put a step and then another. Follow Mando and his billowing cape.

When they had entered the settlement area, the dusk was quickly turning into an almost impenetrable darkness and there was no one outside. The only source of light were several weak pre-imperial style led lanterns that gave a small greyish-orange reflection off Mando’s armour. The only sound was the rush of wind and snow in her ears as well as the snowy crunch under their feel.

Siri recognised entering the second stage of hypothermia when it became even harder to form a coherent thought. She needed to get warm. The bundle in her arms generated warmth, but it would soon feel the adverse effect of this frost as well. It was just a child.

The woman stopped in front of a round stone building with a conical shaped roof, pressed one of the stones on the wall and a metal door slid horizontally open. Without looking back to them, she went inside. Mando nodded for her to enter first, and then followed them. The door hissed shut.

It was a sparsely lit, big room and despite rapidly losing strength and the clarity of thought, Siri forced herself to keep both eyes trained on all the details. Wherever she had entered, she had to have the place analysed for possible dangers, hidden traps and to have an escape route planned. No exceptions. This is how she had survived up until now.

It smelled of food here and sure enough, her periphery vision registered a copper pot hung over a small fire with something gurgling inside The fire was both the light and heat source, where the design of this room with a funnel-shaped roof enabled the weak smoke to escape and the heat to be distributed inside. The woman stood by the fire with her arms crossed and Mando stepped lightly on the line between them. Siri checked on the child – it had a somewhat miserable look on its face. Whatever this woman decided, she better share some of this stew or what she had in that pot with the child before kicking them out.

“You’re the Panther, right?”

The woman instantly changed, as if an alchemic reaction happened upon hearing the code-word.

“How do you…?”

“I wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t absolutely necessary,” said Mando. “I have a child with me. Imps are breathing down our necks and want the kid for hell knows what. Let us stay here for a while.”

The woman seemed to think on the Mandalorian’s words. Then she crossed gazes with Siri.

“And what about her?” she nodded with her helmeted chin towards Siri in a not very respectful manner. “Don’t tell you can’t smell the Empire off her. This is a top-grade Imp uniform.”

The dirty shirt with a torn sleeve made a feeble attempt to be ‘top-grade, but all in all, the woman seemed to know more that her looks suggested, thought Siri, wondering who this ‘Panther’ was.

Mando turned his head as if wanting to take a look at her. “She’s ok.”

Beaten up by the frigid wind, all Siri was thinking about at this moment was to get the child fed. Was this warrior lady an alien to not catch the obvious vibe from Siri? But then, as a spy herself, she would have done the same. But never-freaking-mind, please. She needed to feed the child, right now. And warm herself up.

The woman seemed to give them the credit of doubt as she unclasped her helmet and took it off. A mane of dark chocolate hair and a tan face set in hardened features appeared in front of them. She looked vaguely familiar to Siri, but then, she could be anyone. She had crossed paths with many people during her career.

“She better be,” said the woman in a clipped tone. “Stay here for tonight. You can eat this,” she nodded in the direction of the pot. “Don’t try anything funny. We’ll talk in the morning.” And with that she left again into the freezing night. As the door hissed close behind her, some of the snow managed to get blown inside.

They were left alone with the fire cracking under the copper pot.

Before Siri did or said anything or acknowledged Mando in any way, she walked up to a stone bench near the fire she had noticed earlier and slumped onto it. She untucked the child, helping it sit upright on her lap, and gently squeezed its little clawed hands and feet – they felt cool under her hand.

“Someone needs to get warm,” she said to the child as it kept looking between her and the copper pot. She feared that the kid would have done much worse in such temperatures. It looked just mildly uncomfortable – most probably hungry – with only the extremities cold. Perhaps it had in part the reptilian blood circulation, able to adjust to the outside temperature?

A rumble sounded and she lifted her head to see the Mandalorian rummaging through a nearby crate. Thanks the Maker, as she felt that getting up was too much of a feat. He seemed to find a satisfactorily clean bowl and proceeded to fill it with the steaming stew. It looked good, dense, with a rich brown soup and large chunks of meat and vegetables. When he sat next to her on the bench, the delicious aroma made her stomach growl and the sound alerted the child, who snapped, its ears flapping, to look at the curious, offending noise. But when it noticed the steaming bowl filled to the brim with the stew, everything else was forgotten. Mando carefully put the bowl into outstretched, clawed hands and the kid started slurping the stew, with Siri helping him with the larger chunks floating in there.

“He is fifty years old,” the modulated baritone broke the silence.

Siri thought she must have misheard. What was he talking about? The kid? She decided the mild hypothermia must have messed with her cognitive abilities. But when she looked to the beskar helmet, she found him looking straight at her.

“…Fifty?”

“Yes.”

She looked down to the child who tilted the bowl so that the last drops of the stew trickled into his mouth and then made a tiny burping sound. He squeaked and Mando took the empty bowl from his hands, setting it aside.

“Then we might not even see him utter a coherent word, let alone grow independent and be able to defend himself.”

“Yes.”

The Mandalorian. A warrior, never letting go of his weapon, one with his armour, never, ever taking off the beskar covering his face, the beskar into which the Code was hammered, beating in one pulse with the rhythm of his soul.

A warrior feeling called to protect this little, green creature.

“How did you end up with him?” How such a unlikely alliance was formed? Siri was so exhausted that she had trouble keeping her eyes open, and the nearby fire didn’t manage to banish the cold, so she started to shiver again. But she sensed an opening in Mando, so she needed to forge the iron while it was hot.

He was silent for a moment.

Beskar and silence. It would speak.

“I… I was hired to acquire the asset for an ex-imperial client. He was paying in beskar that the Empire has looted during the Great Purge.” The Mandalorian was speaking, his helmet boring into the dancing flames of the fire. Siri sat perfectly still, absorbing his words and his body language. “I delivered the asset. I accepted the beskar. And then… I took the asset back.” He turned to the child, and it cooed, waving in Mando’s direction.

That was… Almost a confession. A step through the invisible boundary that was set around him. He said it. He actually told her. And she was more than glad to learn more of this strange, wonderful creature.

Despite the howling snowstorm outside, it was quiet here, in this stone shelter. It was quiet and still. The fire cracked, the child just sat on her lap, stuffed, its back propped on her stomach, the Mandalorian next to her, his arms loosely propped on this thighs. In this silence, she was sure she almost heard his soft intakes of breath through the helmet.

“You did the right thing,” she said quietly, hoarsely.

“Yeah.”

“Is there more of you, the Mandalorians? Can’t they help you?”

He took his time before answering. Siri had almost started to regret asking this question and feared of being too pushy, but in the end Mando found his voice.

“They’ve already assisted me. And they were forced to go deeper into hiding.”

It seemed that wherever he went, trouble would follow him. A mercenary, a bounty hunter, one you should be very much afraid of – to be turned in one moment into one they hunt, with a precious cargo he unwittingly had sworn to protect, at all costs.

“Mando, you need a plan,” said Siri quietly, seeing her distorted reflection in his helmet. Her voice was cracking form exhaustion. “You can run, but they will, in the end, find you. This is the former Empire. Once they bite, they don’t ever let go.” She was convinced she had already spoken to him of the necessity of a plan, but right now, despite seeing him almost sighing, she felt it was crucial to reiterate that they – he and the child – needed a plan.

“I know,” was all he said.

Siri looked to the child, who by this time was falling in and out of sleep, lulled by the fire and the soft voices of their conversation.

“You need to get some sleep.”

There was no one else in the room. Mando spoke those words to her. And while it sounded a little bit exaggerated, it was only the second time she felt as if he saw her as a person, a human being – those were words he had addressed just to her, concerning her personally. The first time being when he had treated her wound. Siri couldn’t put a finger on him. What concerned him the most was the child and its safety, herself being just a temporary addition that only needed to behave. No concern here. But then, he would do or say something that made her realise that the Mandalorian had a watchful eye on everything she was doing – and maybe even experiencing.

But most of all, he was right. Her inner batteries flashed angry red and she needed the regenerative powers of sleep. “I know.” It was nice chatting and she would love to learn more, but her body had reached its limits. And that was certainly a lot to take in. She needed time to process it.

Siri passed the child into Mando’s arms – he accepted the tiny bundle with the utmost care – and set about finding a place to sleep near the fire. She knew it would be most beneficial if she forced herself to down some of the stew, but anything more than those few steps towards a makeshift bedding from pine branches and a military issue blanket thrown onto them seemed like an insurmountable task. So she collapsed there, on her left side and face to the fire, directing her last effort towards covering herself in the bantha cloak, her faithful companion. Not even the dull pain of her would and crawling tendrils of cold managed to steer her away from the sleep.

The overpowering tiredness manifested as a buzzing ringing in her ears that muted all the sounds into white-noise oblivion. She actually felt feverish. She needed to battle this cold, so as not to risk infecting the child. She could do it. She used to battle worse. To run with a case bronchitis, injecting cough suppressants into her thigh so as not to alert the enemy to her presence. This fever that was running through her was a piece of cake.

Would he leave her there, when the dawn came? She had no idea. No, whatever question was that? He certainly wouldn’t do that. That was the delirious exhaustion speaking. He was a Mandalorian. He was an honourable man. And if any, she sensed something tiny had shifted between their fragile association. He had just shared some of his personal history with her, hadn’t he? Besides, even though knowing about her questionable past, he saw through her, at least to the basic stuff. Otherwise, he would not let her get close to the child. He was the same. Neither labelling himself good or bad, dark or light. Simply doing what he felt was right.

Protecting those who were important to him.

She was out in moments, like a blown candle.

* * *

Having added fresh logs to the fire, the Mandalorian found another bedding and carried it closer to the warmth of the flames, between the stone ledge and the fireplace, on the other side than where the doctor was lying. As much as he would be perfectly content to keep the child close, it needed warmth more than the coldness of beskar.

“Stay here. Don’t wander anywhere,” he told the baby, setting it onto the military blanket and wrapping the little blanket it was carried in here around the tiny body, himself sitting next to the child, leaning his back on the wall. The kid looked up to him, then to the doctor bundled in her cloak, and then back to Mando. It seemed disoriented.

“I’ll be right here. Go to sleep. I’m not going anywhere,” he assured the child. He would try to get a nap closer to the dawn. The standardised clock on his visor’s display told him it was around ten in the evening. Maybe he could even do some reading.

A gentle tap on his arm. The child was looking up to him, with eyes wide and hopeful.

It shouldn’t sleep alone. Damn, it shouldn’t be on the run, scared.

The Mandalorian scooped the little one and helped him nestle comfortably near his unarmoured side, covering him with the smaller blanket and shielding him from the night’s cold with his arm. The child was warm and tingles spread on his skin under the tunic where its small body was leaning, pressed snugly.

He relaxed and allowed himself to sleep.

* * *

Whatever sound woke him up, it was now gone. The Mandalorian looked around and realised with a start that the child was gone from its place by his side. Panic flooded him with an acid shot before he forced himself to calm down and sweep the room thoroughly.

And surely enough, the child didn’t wander too far.

He stood up and with careful, silent steps he walked over to where the doctor was sleeping, and there, from under her bantha cloak, peeked a set of two green ears and closed eyes. Of course. Both looked deeply asleep, unmoving, with breaths regular. The doctor looked less feverish, her face no longer covered by a pale sheen of sweat. He marvelled at this woman’s ability to recover. She must’ve got health like a dewback.

The kid would be surely be sad if they parted with the doctor and her cloak.

Mando stoked the fire with a log, fanned the flames with a small steel plate propped on the legs of the grate and poured himself half of what was left from the stew. He set the pot near the embers so that the doctor would have it warm when she woke up. Retreating to a dark corner, he double checked that the doctor’s back was facing him and set out to finally eat something.

* * *

He was up and ready before the crack of dawn. To pass the time and to scout this place, he took a short walk around the building they were in. It was one of the last homes of this village, set in some distance from the wall of the forest, with few giant pines shielding it as a fence of sorts. The house had several narrow windows with a darkened glass that was impossible to see-through, not even the golden glow of the flames penetrated through it. Was this designed to keep a curious eye away, to not be easily spotted from the orbit, or to not be seen by something passing though the dense forest around the settlement? He didn’t know when exactly, but during the night the faint led lights on the streets were put out. The dark village looked as if uninhabited, deserted, the stone buildings of various shapes neatly covered with the fluffy snow.

The Mandalorian was a man of steel nerves. He was the one that others anticipated with a sickening fear gripping their hearts. But standing here in the absolute silence and stillness, he was poked with a feeling of uneasiness. As if feeling someone’s, something’s eyes on himself.

He kept observing the village and the forest behind it, all still dark with the pre-dawn grey, daring something to move, but the scenery didn’t change a fraction. The only thing that was different was the snow which stopped falling altogether.

Feeling satisfied with the perusal of their surroundings, he returned inside. He sensed nothing out of the ordinary happening here, his instincts weren’t flashing him any warning signs.

It was not long before the woman returned. His visor display said it was zero seven thirty when the warrior woman came through the sliding door and greeted him with silent gaze. She was wearing her fur amour in its entirety sans the helmet and Mandalorian could see that the wariness present in the woman before softened during the night.

“The village council want to speak to with you.”

He nodded.

The woman slid her gaze off him and settled it behind him, on, presumably, the doctor and the child, who were still sleeping.

“They want to see the kid, too.”

The Mandalorian contemplated for a moment which option would be safer for the kid – rouse it from its sleep and drag to the meeting, keeping an eye on him, or let him have his rest and leave the babysitting to the doctor, who had proven to be quite capable of protecting the child, too, up to this point. Speaking of which, didn’t they want to see the doctor as well?

“It will be just me.”

The woman looked for a moment ready to wrestle the child from its sleep on her own, but perhaps something in the gaze he was giving her from under the beskar managed to get through and warned her to not even think of it.

“Have it your way,” she shrugged and left the small building, with the Mandalorian following in her steps.

The weather was improving drastically, the overcast sky parting to give way to some blue. Maybe it was going to be sunny after all. He really hated to think of the child having to constantly be in the unbearable chill.

The settlement awoke with dawn. On their way they passed people clad in fur going about their business: clearing the streets of the fresh snow with portable blowers and more ancient looking osier brooms, carrying baskets with goods, pushing carts with wood. Just as the village seemed asleep last night, it was bursting with life now. Two middle-aged women engrossed in a talk spotted him and a frown crept onto their faces. It passed though when they noticed the woman who was walking one step in front of him. She nodded imperceptibly and the two women relaxed. Approved.

His visor display was kind enough to inform that it was currently minus eight centigrade – the people living here seemed well adapted to the environment.

“Is this the only settlement in the vicinity?” he asked his guide.

She shot him a suspicious look. “No.”

How any of those people found themselves here on this remote planet? The housing technology seemed like old school Republic and the technology he saw so far looked like salvaged from various places. He hoped though that soon he would have some answers. Or just the approvement from the council to stay here for a while.

The woman stopped before the entrance to a low, circular building and indicated that he should come inside first. The Mandalorian obliged, his thoughts once again wandering into the direction of the child, but this time without anxiety. The little one would be fine.

He entered and his eyes took in a low ceiling with led lights giving a shy, orange glow and a holo display with a console by one of the walls. It looked like an interactive scanner and central command station. In the middle, several people stood gathered, speaking softly about themselves. They turned their heads in unison as he stepped inside. The woman followed behind and the door hissed shut.

The people gathered here were mostly young adults, with few elders. All of them were clad in long fur robes with puffy, fur-rimmed hoods resting on their backs. One of them, an ancient looking woman with very sharp eyes, tanned skin and grey hair framing her face stepped forward.

“Thank you, Cara,” she nodded to his guide. The woman nodded sharply without a word and crossed her arms. Then, the old woman addressed her words to him.

“So, lone warrior, you come seeking shelter.”

“Yes.”

“My name is Athlena and I preside as a chief of this settlement. We are simple people. This is a peaceful planet. We do not seek war.”

“I don’t want war.” As he said it, a flash of something dark crossed over chief Athlena’s feature. The Mandalorian was not one to care about palace etiquette and he was used to talks and conversation that were concrete and to the point. And besides, if she expected him to share his name around a crowd of strangers, she had too high of a hope.

“And yet you have brought it.”

“No one was tracking us. We came alone.”

“Yes, you’ve brought quite a party with you.”

“We just want to stay away from the main routes. We seek nothing else.”

“Brave of you to speak for those absent here.”

The Mandalorian suppressed a sigh. This woman was speaking in riddles, but he sensed no ill-intent from her. She was testing him. Her vibrant eyes spoke of the intelligence hidden beneath and some intention towards him. He wondered briefly if his good fellow Jardalt knew of the reception this place provided. But the terror of the Empire was long and wide-reaching, like a starless night creeping into every corner. Even the most remote place would lose nothing by being overly careful.

“We won’t impose on you long. I’m looking for a shelter for a week, maybe two.”

“That’s a long time. What will you eat?” The older woman seemed to radiate a subtle, shrewd smile and it mildly infuriated him.

“I’m sure there is something I could help with.” For the child’s safety, he would even chop wood. And even if he presented them credits, he was sure the chief would rather prefer he performed a community task. On a backwater planet hidden from all radars and supplies most likely not arriving frequently, all hands were on deck.

“I’m sure there will be plenty of ways to help.” He blinked. So that was it. She was settling the deal. Very soon, to that. “Stay and rest then. Cara, please show our guest where they will be most useful.”

Cara nodded, but before they left, the old woman called for his attention once more.

“Two weeks. No longer.”

Two weeks. The chief had accepted his petition. The Mandalorian would make sure this time was used well.

Observed by the council, they left the building. He had expected to have been interrogated more thoroughly, grilled about his history, and asked to show them the child no matter what. Instead, the older woman, Athlena, seemed to just measure him up visually and decide of the form of payment for the period they would be on the planet’s surface. Fair enough.

Outside, he noted with a pleasant surprise that the skies had cleared and sun was reflecting with brilliance off the snow. He needed to check with the doctor and the child and let them know they were staying here.

“Hey, Mando.” He looked to Cara who by this time walked few steps away from him. “This way.”

He followed her and he almost sighed when she led him to an open shed stuffed to the brim with freshly cut logs of wood. Even through the helmet, the smell was overpowering – and pleasant. Next to it, there was a workbench, two tree stumps with axes embedded into it and a barrow with some tools.

His wishes had been granted. The Mandalorian stood there, staring at the high pile of wood impatiently waiting to be chopped up into hearth-useable chunks. And the pile started back at him.

“It’s a remote planet. We’re old school,” said Cara, walking to the workbench.

“How did end up here?” he asked. This woman’s gait had definitely something military in it.

Cara took off her thick fur jacket and set it on a workbench. Underneath, she was wearing a thick long-sleeved tunic, puffy vest and a set of soldier trousers. She measured him with a hard gaze.

“Why don’t you tell me about yourself, ‘lone warrior’?”

He took a deep breath. This was going to be a long day.

* * *

By the time it was ten standard hour the Mandalorian was hungry and thirsty. Chopping wood was no easy pastime. And by this time, he and Cara had swapped their stories. She had learned that the Mandalorian was up until few weeks ago a famed bounty hunter and due to a twist in fate ended up with a strange child in his care. He, on the other hand, knew now that Cara was a former Alliance shock trooper, who grew tired of menial tasks she hadn’t signed up for and retired into a freelance life. It seemed that sharing their stories and some sweat over a job made Cara less suspicious about his person, for she stopped shooting him surly looks.

That was all fine, but it was really the highest time he checked with the child. Where in the morning the prospect of leaving it for a few moments seemed acceptable, now it was few hours with him not having a clue as to the child’s whereabouts. He tried to rationalise his anxiety. The doctor was surely competent enough to take care of the little one in his brief absence. She would make sure it was fed before she ate something herself. And, most definitely, she would not run to the ship and away. With the child.

The axe hit the last log with the splinters flying and the Mandalorian decided it was enough of community service for the time being. He left the axe embedded in the tree stump and found Cara’s gaze who was rearranging the chopped logs. She nodded, so Mando promptly took the opportunity to go find the child.

The house where they slept was empty and his first reaction was a surge of even more anxiety. Whenever it concerned the child, his feelings would spike, he noticed. It was counter-productive. Think, Din. Maybe the doctor had been intercepted and invited for some community service as well, obviously taking the child with her. He went to make rounds through the village, then.

His fancies about some hot beverage and a hearty stew forgotten, he focused on scanning everything in his sight. The frozen ground paved with stones had been all neatly swept and with people walking to and fro in every direction, he had no chances of identifying the doctor’s trail. The villagers regarded him with curious looks, but didn’t show any fear at his presence. The news of him being approved had surely travelled fast. After making a few turns the Mandalorian found a marketplace of sorts and scanned the area in search of the tell-tale grey bantha cloak of the doctor, but didn’t see anything. Mando entered few workshops and a community hall, but without any success. He knew that she and the child must have been somewhere here, but he couldn’t keep mild anxiety from crawling into his bones and started to honestly regret not taking the child with him in the first place.

Two young men stood by the brazier with smouldering coals and wood, warming their hands, and he asked them if they had seen the doctor – a young woman with a green child. He assumed the doctor must have had made herself known and the people here should be aware of her presence, but apparently those young men were oblivious to the hot village news, because they only shook their heads.

Mando walked further through the tiny marketplace and spotted a matron, an older woman with black hair, carrying a basket full of electronic components. He approached her and tried again. “Ma’am. Have you seen the newcomer young woman?”

The matron took a stance and despite her being quite shorter than the Mandalorian, she appeared to be looking down on him.

“Well of course I have!” she bellowed. He took half a step back. “She’s been looking for you all over the village! Where the kriffin’ hell have you been? You left her and your child alone!” He tried to cut in, but the woman just took a breath and continued. “I was with her just moments ago. Poor girl, working so hard with her torn clothes and not even a squeak or a whine. You take better care of her next time!” The Mandalorian tried again, but the woman was taking no prisoners. “’Don’t want to hear your sorry excuses! Go down the street and to your left. The glasshouse.”

“Thank you.” He nodded and left hastily. Yes, he was correct. The doctor had made herself known in the village already.

The Mandalorian rushed in the direction the woman had indicated and true to her words, there was a large glasshouse fitted between the houses, its panelled windows glistening in the sunshine. The ‘glasshouse’ seemed to be their word for a greenhouse, as he could see that this building was full of plants of various sizes, their leaves pushing on the windows. He found the door and after passing through the windcatcher, he entered right under the shade of a large bushy plant and some vines dangling from the roof.

It was distinctly warmer here and somewhere in the background, the Mandalorian heard the soft din of conversation. He followed the sound, walking through small fruit trees, patches with what looked like root vegetables and herbs of various shapes. He was close now. He… He could tell the child was there.

Rounding the corner with a giant spiky plant, he spotted them. Two village women, the doctor, turned with her back to him and no longer wearing her torn shirt but something else, and next to them, perched on a wooden bench, the child.

He stopped and before he had a chance to make any sound, any gesture, the child turned its head towards him, the large, delicate ears flapping around. Mando stood there and watched as the little one slid carefully from the bench and unbeknownst to the doctor and the village women, started to scamper towards him. His heart made a flip and he walked up, meeting the child halfway. The Mandalorian scooped the child into his arms and held it close to him, feeling its presence. He felt his anxiety drifting away.

It was then that the two women and the doctor noticed his arrival. The doctor turned, a bundle of herbs in one hand and a smudge of soil on her cheerful face and for the first time since this madness had started, Mando felt like he and child could truly let their guard down. Just for a single moment before the fight commenced again. There was something strange about this place, but it wasn’t hostile, and in this moment, holding the child close to him, the sun streaming down on them, and surrounded by the brilliant, green growth, he knew he made a good decision coming here.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! And thank you for the awesome response to my previous story! I'm truly floored and beyond grateful. The OC has a name, but we can learn this only when our Mando learns it. It will happen. Along with other things. Let me know how you liked this, I appreciate your comments! And I'll see you soon either in Chapter 2 or in another short story. I might have ideas for at least ten stories... They just keep coming.  
> Love,  
> N.


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